Camping trip
by Never the End127
Summary: After much heated debate, anger, complaining, and a near-fatal confrontation with their superior officer, they've all collectively decided to blame Simmons. They kind of have to. No one is brave enough to suggest that it's May's fault.


A/N—Hi, I'm back! This is just something I dredged up from a long, long time ago. I don't actually remember writing it, but I swear to god it's mine. Don't plagiarize, kids. It's a bad thing.

Set before Ward turns evil—maybe episode 7 or 8? Enjoy!

* * *

After much heated debate, anger, complaining, and a near-fatal confrontation with their superior officer, they've all collectively decided to blame Simmons.

One could argue that it had been Skye's fault—she's the one that put Coulson in a bad mood, having spilled coffee all down the front of his shirt the first thing in the morning. It was arguable that Ward was the cause of the little 'trust exercise,' as he was the one who borrowed Phill's pen and then lost it, not knowing that it was a priceless collectable from World War II that hadn't worked in decades. Fitz is another one who could potentially be guilty, for whatever reason.

No one is brave enough to suggest it was May's fault.

Collectively, they've decided that Jemma deserved the most of the blame. She's the one that suggested camping, after all.

"I'm _sorry._" She protests for the third time in ten minutes, jerking the stick she holds poised over the camp fire, and the gooey marshmallow slips of the end and tumbles into the sparks and ashes. "I didn't know that 'trust exercise' meant we'd all be camping!"

She's met with groans of anger and muttered complaints as the rowdy arguments die down into silence.

"I don't like camping." Fitz announced suddenly, clutching his rolled up sleeping bag to his chest. "Dirt and sand everywhere, getting _all over_ my equipment…"

"Relax, Fitz." May says calmly, sipping a thermos of coffee. She makes a face, and sets the cup down near the rocks that surround the fire in hopes of warming it up. "It's only for a week."

"A week!" Fitz nearly shrieks, and Simmons jumps like a startled cat. "A week, the very nerve… oh, god forbid it rains… and now that I've said that, of course it will. Why did you have to get Coulson all wound up for, Simmons?"

This is followed by another shout of indignation from Simmons and the row starts all over again.

"God, would you all just—" Ward snapped, tossing a burnt bit of hot dog into the flames.

"I didn't start it, he did—"

"Well, I'm ending it!" May finally hollered, and the group elapsed into silence for a few moments more. The long pause was harshly abbreviated with the sound of the fire crackling and the occasional person slapping uselessly at the myriad of bugs who had discovered the buffet of healthy humans and were eating them alive.

It wasn't until after the sun had started to set that a frustrated groan sounded from one of the crudely constructed canvas tents, a few feet from the fire pit. Skye poked her head out of the entrance, her hair a disarrayed mess and her eyes dull with sleep.

"Whoever woke me up is going to die." She informed them with unsettling nonchalance, stretching and yawning. Skye fell back at an awkward angle so she was half-hanging out of the side of the tent that she, Fitz, and Ward shared.

The idea of gender-separated tents was a dream long forgotten, due to the assorted habitual annoyances each team member seemed to have; Fitz turned out to be a violent and restless sleeper, May snored, Simmons seemed to recite chemical compounds and formulas while she was dozing ("Gosh, you two even find ways to bore us in your _sleep_." Skye had remarked, sounding aggravated, if mildly impressed,) and Ward, most shockingly, was surprisingly cuddly in his sleep.

For someone who was so stiff and unwelcoming while he was conscious, Skye had recently learned that the fearless super spy was quite a teddy bear in his sleep. Ward would start out lying on top of her, then roll over and crush her skull in his arms until she felt dizzy and grouchy with sleep-deprivation—then he would proceed to wrestle with her while completely unconscious, dragging her into his arms and forcing her onto her side or her back, like she was a rag doll.

She'd complained about it to May once, inquiring whether or not Ward had been nearly this needy with her while the two of them had shared a bed.

May had merely smirked. "I think he likes your shampoo. Try changing it." She had advised.

Yeah. So, love hurt. And May was useless.

"Look at this!" Fitz exclaimed for the hundredth time that night, brandishing a piece of equipment in Skye's face. "Would you just look at this? There are moth eggs on my charging cord and scandrive—how in the bloody hell am I supposed to correct—"

"Would you all please stop being so… British?" Skye demanded, throwing down the piece of bark she had been picking at and snatching another marshmallow from the bag at her feet. "It's driving me off the deep end."

"Well, I'm sorry Skye," Fitz began, very sarcastically, just as Simmons interrupted with "My Goodness, Skye, would you please elaborate on how we are… _too British_?"

May rolled her eyes and turned to Ward, who was staring at Skye with an expression of fondness and amusement. "I've got a stash of cola cans spiked with rum in the last compartment of my suitcase." She said. "And I'm going to need at least three of those before I get to sleep with these guys going at it."

Ward swallowed, and nodded in acknowledgment. "Okay if I have some too?"

"That's what I was counting on." May shook her head and rubbed her temples tiredly.

She didn't care what Coulson said. There was no way any group of people this out of sync and this dysfunctional could ever come together to work for the common goal.

She grinned, though, as she watched Ward struggled to disarm Fitz as he tried to empty a can of cola/rum over Skye's head.

Functional or not, they were going to make one hell of an interesting team.


End file.
